


The Invisible Woman

by damozel



Category: The Invisible Man - H. G. Wells, WELLS H. G. - Works, Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Artifacts, Case Fic, F/F, Femslash, Identity Swap, Invisibility, Invisibility Kink, Invisible sex, Undercover As Prostitute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4778861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damozel/pseuds/damozel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a quiet Colarado neighbourhood, Myka Bering leads what seems like the perfect life. Devoted daughter, beloved child, and partner in her parents’ bookstore. What more could she desire? </p><p>An unusual nocturnal visitor provides an unexpected answer. A visitor who must be seen to be believed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In another life, contented book store owner Myka Bering faces a rude awakening.

‘Time to close up hon,’ called the ageing bookseller, slowly heaving a pile of Dickens that were being used as a make-shift doorstop out of the way. He turned over the ‘Open/Close’ sign with a sigh of relief as he let the door fall shut. ‘Come on Mykes, no need to overdo it. Time for dinner.’

Warren Bering began to search the aisles of his store, determined to track down the young woman that he was proud to call his daughter. The proprietor need not have worried that she was working too hard. He eventually found her seated in an obscure corner, having managed to fold her tall, slender frame into a narrow space between bookshelf and wall. Her green eyes flashed as they darted across the page of a slim volume, and her head of curly hair bobbed up and down as if the rhythms of the narrative had somehow poured into her body. Engrossed, she didn’t hear her father’s approach. 

‘Any good?’ he asked, bending down to her level. Myka started in surprise.

‘Sorry dad,’ she said with a guilty smile that made her look more like a schoolgirl than the accomplished woman she in fact was – a partner in her parents’ book-selling business with a graduate degree in English Literature. ‘Just a little nostalgia. These old editions of Wells have been sitting around forever. I was taking a quick look at the quality of the printing, but then...’

‘...then you realised a couple of hours had passed without you noticing.’ Mr Bering smiled indulgently. He knew the girl well enough to understand her habits, and to find them endearing. ‘I used to do the same when I was working on that great lump of a thing that I’m vain enough to call a novel.’

‘Of course it’s a novel,’ she replied laughing. ‘And maybe one day you’ll actually let me read it. For now I think I’ll stack all the Wells in the window with a “reduced” tag, see if we can finally clear them out. Then I’ll come through and grab a glass of wine with you and mom.’

‘Sure hon. But why don’t you leave that one aside?’ He took the copy of _The Invisible Man_ from her hands and smoothed down the cover. ‘Ah yes, I remember even Tracy liked this as a child.’ He rolled his eyes affectionately. ‘A little light bedtime reading for old times’ sake?’

***

Myka’s childhood bedroom had always been a place of sanctuary. Somewhere to lay down her head and curl up with a good story when the world outside became too much. She never liked to admit that she was too exhausted to continue, always preferring to believe that she had one more chapter left in her. But that night, as _The Invisible Man_ slipped from her fingers, her body pleaded otherwise. It was only nine o’Clock but, unable to fight it any longer, she fell into a deep and contented sleep.

It seemed like the most harmless of dreams at first. In fact she was impressed that her night-time reading had managed to invade her unconscious so quickly. Through blurry, sleep-ridden eyes she watched as a flash of light streaked across the room. It was only when the movements became more frantic and erratic that it dawned on her that she might actually be awake. When her favourite childhood ornament tumbled down from the dresser, and shattered into a thousand pieces, she began to panic. 

‘I guess I need a little help here,’ came a voice from out the ether. The sing-song Nebraskan accent only made the scenario more bizarre and surreal. Myka pulled herself upright, gripped by fear. As she looked on in utter astonishment, her bed-sheet slowly crawled away from her with a life of its own, moulding itself, in thin air, into the shape of a woman’s body. An almost perfect woman’s body, she couldn’t help but notice.

‘Emily Lake, F.B.I.,’ the voice announced. ‘Warehouse 13 agent to be more precise. I’m wearing nothing but my jewellery at the moment, so I hope you won’t mind me borrowing this sheet.’

‘What the hell is going on here?’ Myka fought to keep her cool in the face of an occurrence that flaunted the physical laws of the universe.

‘I guess you’re a little freaked out right now,’ replied the voice kindly, in a tone that reminded Myka of her third grade teacher comforting her after skimming a knee in the playground. ‘And I’m so sorry about your cat figurine. Believe me, it wasn’t intentional. I’m a great lover of the species, adore the little fluff balls.’

‘You think the cat ornament is what’s bothering me?’ gasped the bookseller in disbelief.

‘I guess not. But If you hear me out for ten minutes I promise to explain.’

***

‘So let me get this straight,’ began Myka, looking over at the strange creature perched on the bed beside her. Now swathed in several layers of bed linen, Emily Lake resembled a hollowed out Egyptian mummy rather than a government agent. ‘You work at a warehouse that stores supernatural artifacts. And you’re one of the agents assigned to retrieving these – these _things_? Forgive me, but it sounds like cheap science fiction.’

‘Aren’t I living proof it’s not?’ retorted Emily. Her invisible fingers briefly made contact with the bare flesh on Myka’s shoulder. ‘But yeah, that’s the long and short of it. I’ve been hunting down the Invisible Man’s bandages. Turns out H.G. Wells’ novella wasn’t one hundred percent fiction. In fact many of – um – _his_ stories were inspired by actual events. In the 1890s a promising young scientist began to experiment with refraction and radiation, and eventually had some success in rendering organic tissue invisible. His name wasn’t Griffin, but Wells was right about most things. He was an unpleasant kind of guy, a cat-torturer in fact, who wound up in all kinds of trouble. Eventually the mob caught up with him, and in the angry moments before he died the bandages he once used to cover his face took on a special kind of energy. That’s the way it goes when a new artifact is formed. Unfortunately that kind of power can’t be contained for long. The bandages transfer the properties of invisibility to anybody that comes into direct contact with them. As you might have guessed, I’ve already had a run in with them.’

‘So what, exactly, are you doing here?’ Myka demanded, her logical, practical mind taking control amidst the madness.

‘I’ve been tracking the artifact for days,’ replied the disembodied voice. ‘Unfortunately it got away from me, and I had to lose my clothes to get myself out of a sticky situation. Then I managed to get myself lost in your store.’ Myka watched as her bed-sheet slumped against her pillows in frustration. ‘The good news is I’m pretty sure the bandages were hidden in a shipment bound for Bering & Sons. Though the “Sons” bit I don’t understand. Have you recently received a crate containing the complete 8th edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica?’

‘Damnit,’ muttered Myka, now as frustrated as he unconventional companion. She remembered all too well what had happened to that particular shipment of books. ‘It was bought up immediately by one of our best, or should I say _worst_ , customers. And it won’t be easy to retrieve from a man like Mr Judd.’

‘Do you know where he lives?’ asked Emily urgently. Despite her invisibility, Myka could almost see the panic in her eyes. ‘It may seem like fun and games,’ the agent added, ‘but these artifacts always have a dark side in the end.’

A mischievous smile played upon Myka’s lips. ‘Yeah I know where he lives. And I think I know how we can get your artifact back.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The plan was pretty straightforward. In theory."

The plan was pretty straightforward. In theory. 

At first Myka had been reluctant to suggest than another woman put herself in such a dangerous position. But Agent Lake had assured her she could handle it. Fortunately the effects of the artifact had begun to wear off after a while, and, as the pair mapped out their strategy, the government agent’s physical features had gradually reappeared. The bookseller had found it a hell of a lot easier to talk to a person she could actually see, although she hadn’t quite managed to hide her surprise at her new acquaintance’s appearance. Emily’s alabaster skin, swan-like neck and lush mane of hair somehow jarred with her chirpy Midwestern accent. As did her impossibly high check bones and deep brown eyes, that ran almost to blackness. Now, as Myka crouched in the darkness on top of the low roof beneath Reginald Judd’s bathroom window, she only hoped Agent Lake could pull it all off.

Emily took a deep breath and rapped three times on the brass lion head that served as a door-knocker. The house’s whole, elaborate façade stank of wealth without taste. Perfect for the kind of guy Myka had described. It took a few minutes for Judd to answer, and when he did it was clear he wasn’t expecting company. A generous paunch protruded from out the top of a pair of silk bottoms that were several sizes too small, and a few tendrils of curling grey hair poked through his clumsily fastened pyjama jacket.

‘What the hell is this?’ His heavily lined, bloated face reddened in annoyance. ‘I don’t have a girl booked for tonight, and it’s way too late to be calling here.’

‘You’re kidding,’ Emily retorted, affecting a pout and casually undoing a couple of buttons on the over-sized shirt that she had borrowed from Myka. It wasn’t easy to swallow her revulsion, but life as a warehouse agent had taught her that sometimes the ends justified the means. ‘The escort agency called this evening. Said they had a fantastic last minute job lined up for me. I would’ve been here earlier but I had trouble finding your place,’ she added pointedly. ‘Gee, you’re kinda secluded up here. What an amazing house.’ She ran her eyes over the gaudy, faux-Tudor windows for good measure.

‘That woman who runs your agency couldn’t tell her ass from her elbow,’ grumbled Judd. Despite his cantankerous words, his face began to soften. As he looked the agent up and down, it was clear from the shape of his pyjama trousers that his anger had turned to arousal. ‘Don’t worry honey,’ he said, pressing his hot, clammy hand into her own. ‘It’s not your fault, and we can’t leave a nice girl like you stranded out here on her own, now can we. Why don’t you come inside and fix poppa a drink?’ 

Emily couldn’t help but admire one aspect of the house as they entered. ‘Gee you sure do have a lot of books,’ she purred. She took the opportunity to sweep the room with her eyes, searching for the missing crate. 

‘I’m a collector,’ Judd responded with a smug smile, puffing up his chest. ‘Don’t actually read the damn things, but there’s some valuable stock in this here house. More valuable than anything a girl like you will ever own.’

Agent Lake giggled in an attempt to mask her rising anger. ‘When I was a little girl I told my mom I wanted to teach high school English when I grew up. Guess I wasn’t smart enough.’ She took the opportunity to scour another few shelves, frustrated that the encyclopedias were nowhere to be seen.

‘Now why’d you want to go and worry your pretty head over a thing like that? I’m sure you have _many_ other talents,’ crowed Judd. ‘The liquor cabinet’s over there, princess. Mine’s a Scotch, neat. Pour something for yourself as well.’ 

The warehouse agent reached for the glassware and began to fix the drinks. Stalling, she carefully transferred several cubes of ice to Judd’s glass. ‘Damnit, you said no ice,’ she exclaimed with exaggerated annoyance, tossing the contents of the glass away. She started over, taking the opportunity to gather her thoughts. The agent knew that she needed to search the whole house if she could. But she wasn't sure she could take much more from the sleaze ball behind her.

‘Scotch neat.’ Emily smiled bitterly to herself as she handed the glass to her companion, who was now seated on the most hideous leather couch she’d ever seen, smirking at her attempts to tend bar. He eyed her longingly, like a piece of prize meat.

‘Thanks princess.’ He patted his knee, gesturing for her to come join him on his lap. ‘That’s just what the doctor ordered.’

‘Would you give me a second?’ The agent looked down at the floor, feigning shyness. The vile creature obviously expected the girls he paid for to be suitably passive and demure. ‘I need to go freshen up in the bathroom.’

‘Go on then. First door on the right,’ Judd conceded with a small groan. He ran his fingers along the outline of his now fully erect cock, which strained against the fabric of his tight pyjama bottoms. ‘Make sure you hurry back, though. You girls’ll be the death of me.’

It took all of her resolve not to turn on her heel and run from the room. But she managed to throw in a provocative sashay for good measure. Despite her sometimes ditzy habits, Agent Lake knew how to hold herself together when push came to shove.

Moving as quickly and silently as possible, she began to search the downstairs of the large house, covering as much ground as she could in the few minutes available. She discovered several boxes of antiques, but the crate of encyclopedias was nowhere to be seen. Giving up at last she mounted the stairs, taking them two at a time. They would need to resort to Plan B.

‘Myka, are you there?’ hissed the agent, opening the bathroom window and leaning out into the cool night air.

‘Yep, I’m here,’ replied the bookseller, struggling to keep the tremor from her voice. She hated to admit how much her vertigo was bothering her, when her companion was taking so many risks.

‘It’s not downstairs,’ continued Emily in a harsh whisper. ‘I need you to search up here while I keep Judd occupied. Do you think you’d recognise the crate again?’

‘Sure thing. No problem.’ Myka’s gulp was audible. She knew that it was absurd to be so concerned about a woman she’d only just met. Fear gnawed at the inside of her stomach regardless.

‘Don’t worry,’ the agent responded gently, recognising her companion’s anxiety. ‘I won’t let him touch me. Just hurry up!’

***

‘How about a little mood music?’ Emily sashayed back into the living room and headed for the vintage record player on the sideboard. ‘Gee, I don’t think I’ve even seen old-fashioned discs like this in real life.’

‘I’d hoped you’d be wearing a little less by now.’ Judd’s expression was half frown, half leer. ‘Now come over here to me you little prick tease.’

‘Just one quick tune? I like to dance, y’know.’

‘Get that ugly shirt off and I’ll think about it.’

Emily raised her hands slowly to her chest, and began to fumble with her remaining buttons. _Needs must_ , she thought as she began to strip. She had barely got beyond the third button before a loud crash from upstairs stopped her dead in her tracks.

‘I’ll go see what’s happened,’ she called, flying out the room and slamming the heavy oak door behind her before her companion could react. She raced up the stairs with lightning speed, only to find Myka sprawled on the floor of Judd’s bedroom, surrounded by all 21 volumes of the 8th Encyclopedia Britannica.

‘I found the crate,’ Myka began breathlessly. ‘Then the damn thing fell over. Now I can’t find the bandages.’ 

‘They’re hidden under “W” for Wells. Find the right volume, quick. And while you’re at it, get your clothes off!’

Myka frantically thumbed the pages as Judd’s heavy footsteps thundered up the stairway, getting closer by the second. The furious man arrived in the bedroom just a few moments later. 

‘What the hell is going on here?’ he bellowed into the thin air. 

All that remained of the two women was a heap of books, and a pile of abandoned clothes. 

‘What the blazing Jesus is this!’ Judd shouted again. 

The only response was the brush of an invisible shoulder pushing past him, shortly followed by a dig in the ribs from an invisible elbow, and a jab in the groin from an invisible knee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things seemed to be happening far too quickly. Yet in another sense it was as if her whole life had been preparing her for this moment. As if she had simply been treading water, waiting for the appointed day and hour."

It was not until she was lost in farmland on the outskirts of town that Myka began to slow her pace. She liked to think she was in pretty good shape, but the unplanned sprint had taken it out of her. Her breasts hurt from running without an under wire, and the soles of her feet smarted. _Too bad the invisibility doesn’t come with any other super powers, huh_.

She came to a standstill at last. To her relief, a floating bundle of bandages, accompanied by heavy, ragged breathes, followed close behind. Agent Lake might lack physical presence for the time being, but the younger woman felt better just knowing she was there.

‘Rest now.’ The warehouse agent’s voice was suddenly authoritative. ‘He’s gone.’ 

Pressure applied to her hips coaxed the bookseller gently down to the ground. She was relieved to flop onto the dewy grass, and to drink in the starry night sky that was usually hidden by the city lights. The warehouse agent laced a slender arm around her shoulders. ‘Deep breathes,’ she instructed needlessly, as Myka instinctively let her head fall against her companion’s neck. Despite the discrepancy in their respective heights, the gap between Emily’s shoulder and chin accommodated Myka perfectly. Almost as if the agent had been purposely designed with her measurements in mind.

‘Hey, those curls still tickle you know,’ Emily quipped.

‘I guess you’ll have to put up with it for now. I’m too exhausted to move.’

The pair fell into a companionable silence as they waited for their racing hearts to return to normal. Myka had pretty much recovered from the exertion of the run, but her pulse continued to race. _Guess I’m not as fit as I thought_ , she mused. If she had been honest with herself she would have had to admit that her rising pulse was connected to the presence of the ghostly woman sitting next to her. The electricity between the pair was already palpable. An instant magnetism that defied logic.

‘So what next?’ Myka ventured, breaking the silence at last. ‘You know we ran in the opposite direction to the car. Not the smartest move,’ she added with a wry laugh.

‘I’m all out of resources at the moment. Even lost the shirt off my back.’ The bookseller could hear the mischievous grin in the agent’s voice. ‘We need to get the artifact back to the warehouse, so we can snag it, bag it –’

‘– and tag it,’ Myka added automatically.

‘You remember?’ Emily inhaled sharply, doing her best to hide her alarm.

‘Remember what?’

‘Nothing. I mean, I guess I told you about it back at the house. Yeah, we need to get back to Warehouse 13 asap so we can file these creepy things away for good.’

The pair fell silent again for a moment or two. Fortunately Myka couldn’t see the perspiration on her companion’s forehead. And she was too preoccupied to notice the obvious blunder. ‘Judd didn’t – he didn’t do anything to you?’ she asked eventually. 

‘Nope, he sure didn’t,’ replied the agent in the sing song teacher-like voice that Myka found so reassuring. ‘Nothing accept behave like a total ass,’ she added with a snort of laughter that was too loud to be completely convincing. ‘I guess the Brits call guys like that “wankers” for a reason. I’m just surprised he bought me as a call girl, is all. You know I’m usually more of a long skirts and cardigans kinda gal.’

‘Hmm. Why do I find that hard to believe?’ Myka arched her brow impishly, before remembering that her endearing repertoire of facial expressions was lost on her companion. 

‘I think I can answer that.’

‘Yeah?’ Myka’s words were strained and thready now. Things seemed to be happening far too quickly. Yet in another sense it was as if her whole life had been preparing her for this moment. As if she had simply been treading water, waiting for the appointed day and hour.

‘I think it’s because of this,’ the agent replied. Myka’s heart felt as if it would burst out of her chest at any moment, but her companion scarcely missed a beat. 

Emily’s extracted her intangible arm from the younger woman’s shoulders. Finding the thing she was searching for, she began to lightly caress her companion’s thigh. ‘Okay, Mykes?’ The invisible hand moved slowly upwards, tracing a delicate line along the tender flesh of the other woman’s inner thigh. Yes, the situation was bizarre. But the effects of the artifact also made things clearer somehow, more straightforward. 

Unable to respond with words, Myka groped the air, eventually laying her hands on Emily’s long, muscular legs. Using her hands to see, she took her time running her fingers over the contours of the agent’s perfectly formed thighs, before working her way over a pair of sharp hips, and losing herself in the dramatic curves of the agent’s slender waist. Luxuriating in every detail, the bookseller painted a mental portrait of her companion’s body. By the time Myka was cupping the other woman’s breasts in her hands it felt like the most natural thing in the world. As she kissed Emily’s impossibly soft lips, she sensed that that mouth had always, truly, belonged to her. 

Agent Lake’s only response was a painfully erotic moan of contentment. Then she took her own hand higher. Applying only the lightest of touches she began to stroke her lover; gently, carefully moving inside, in response to her partner’s increasing arousal. ‘So I guess the artifact didn’t effect everything,’ she murmured. Her transparent fingers were thoroughly coated.

Myka was already impossibly, ridiculously wet; moments away from falling into the abyss. But Myka Bering was not a woman who liked to lose control. It took every inch of willpower to drag herself back. ‘Stop. Please just stop a second.’

‘Of course. Of course my love.’ Emily pulled her hand away, but continued to cradle the younger woman, holding her close to her chest.

‘I don’t – I mean – you have to understand. I don’t do things like this.’

‘You mean you’re not gay?’ There was a playful edge to the agent’s voice. 

‘No, I mean I don’t do things like this at all. Ever. With anyone. I’ve always been on my own.’

‘Really? Always? What about high school?’ 

‘I guess I’m not sure.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘Lincoln High,’ replied Myka robotically.

‘And there was no one there? No guy? No girl? Think about it. _Really think_.’

‘I took karate and fencing. And four languages. That must've eaten up my time.’

‘But you don’t actually _remember_?'

‘I – I don’t know. I should know, but I don’t.’ 

The agent was silent, but she continued to hold her lover close.

‘Emily, you’re scaring me now. Let’s not talk about it any more.’ Myka shivered violently. ‘It’s been a long night and I’m starting to freeze. There’s some blankets in the trunk of my car. We should go back.’ She reached for Emily’s face and ran her hands through the tangled mass of hair, planting a sweet, chaste kiss on her lips. 

‘Always the capable one. God I’ve missed you Helena,’ breathed the agent in little more than a whisper.

‘What? What did you just say?’


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What I’m about to say to you will sound strange and frightening, and weirder than anything you could find in that mountain of books out in the store. But I promise I’ll tell you the truth."

Warehouse 13 agent Emily Lake cut a strange figure as she burst into the living quarters round the back of “Bering & Sons”, taking advantage of the trusting family’s relative lack of security. The effects of the artifact had almost worn off, but a few patches of translucent skin remained on the tips of her fingers and the ends of her toes. Her mane of dark hair now swung wildly against her bare shoulders and décolletage, and while Myka’s old tartan picnic blanket just about protected her modesty, one clumsy move could easily result in exposure. ‘Warren, Jean, get down here right now,’ she shouted from the bottom of the stairs. It was unlike Agent Lake to raise her voice, but when she did her shrill, girlish call was more effective than any alarm clock. ‘You need to talk to your “daughter”. And you need to do it fast!’

Warren Bering was first to emerge. The dishevelled man, dressed only in his robe, was the picture of confusion and anger. ‘What the hell is this, Agent Lake?’ he demanded. ‘The regents told you never to come here. For everybody’s sake. You, more than anybody, should understand the trouble this will cause.’

‘Oh what have you done, Emily?’ muttered Mrs Bering from over her husband’s shoulder. ‘And why on earth is Myka’s bedroom empty at this time of night? If you’ve hurt that girl I swear to you I’ll – ’

‘It wasn’t just me,’ interrupted the agent. ‘And you know I’d never hurt her’. She began to soften in spite of herself as she saw the worry etched on the Berings’ faces. ‘I think the warehouse brought me here on purpose. Then “Myka” started to remember all by herself. She put her neck on the line in the middle of the night to help me with a case, because _that’s the sort of woman she is_. Now she needs some answers.’

The journey back to the book store had been excruciating, with the younger woman demanding explanations, and the Warehouse 13 agent insisting Myka speak to her parents first. Emily hadn't noticed Myka enter the building behind her; hadn't realised that the confused bookseller could hear every word of the heated exchange between herself and the Berings. Now, as Emily spotted her tousled, disoriented companion in the hallway, it was clear from the cast of Myka’s shoulders, and her blotchy pink cheeks, that the ordinarily poised and self-contained individual was feeling vulnerable and scared. ‘Mom. Dad. I think we need to talk.’

‘We do honey,’ Jean replied, rushing down the stairs and wrapping her arms around the young woman she had come to care for so deeply. Myka felt the damp of her mother’s tears as the older woman held her tight. ‘First we need to get you two warm and dressed. And I imagine a stiff drink wouldn’t go amiss.’

***

‘My memory’s been playing up all night,’ began Myka. ‘First I remember something, and I don’t know where it comes from. Then I forget something I’m sure I’ve always known. And Emily called me Helena. She called me Helena and it felt so right.’ Myka blushed as she recalled the other things that had felt so right during the eventful night spent with Agent Lake. She was seated by the fireplace, cradling a tumbler of brandy, as her parents and the Warehouse 13 agent looked on.

‘Your name _is_ Helena. Helena George Wells to be exact.’ Two deep furrows formed on Warren Bering’s brow as he spoke. ‘What I’m about to say to you will sound strange and frightening, and weirder than anything you could find in that mountain of books out in the store. But I promise I’ll tell you the truth.’

Jean reached out and squeezed Myka’s hand, as Emily watched, pale-faced. 

‘You were born in 1866, and from what I understand you were always the imaginative type. You created marvellous things: stories and inventions like the world has never seen. A Time Machine, no less. Of course that sort of writing was no job for a woman back in those days, so your brother took on the public face of the author – he _became_ H.G. Wells so to speak. But the stories, the stories you love Myka, they’re _all yours_.’

Myka should have screamed, fainted, run away. Or called the local psychiatric unit and told them her parents had finally cracked. But none of it was necessary. As her father spoke, every word rang true. With each minute that passed the door to a new room of memories was eased open.

‘You had another career,’ continued Mr Bering. ‘At the warehouse that preceded Emily’s Warehouse 13.’

‘My goodness, I remember Warehouse 12 like it was yesterday.’ The author was struggling to imagine how she could possibly have forgotten. ‘And darling Chaturanga.’

‘Wow, your accent’s sure coming back strong,’ interjected Emily with an affectionate smile. Myka, or more accurately Helena, sounded plummier by the second. 

‘And I remember my beautiful Christina.’ Helena’s voice cracked at the thought of her lost child.

‘Lots of bad things happened,’ Emily confirmed gently, reaching out to her old friend. ‘You know that they bronzed you in the end. That you were gone for a long, long time.’

‘I could hardly forget it!’ The Victorian shuddered at the memory of her decades of imprisonment.

‘The important thing is you came back. You came back and found Warehouse 13: Mrs Frederic, Artie, Pete, Claudia, Leena. And me. You came back and you found _me_.’ 

‘Lake and Wells, the dynamic duo,’ chirped Helena with a troubled smile. ‘But I know that something else happened, something terrible. You loved me far more than I ever deserved, my dear Emily. And I betrayed you just the same.’ 

‘I don’t wanna think about that right now,’ muttered the Nebraskan. 

‘And still you came back for me?’ asked the Englishwoman, incredulous. ‘You came back for me after what I did.’ 

‘It wasn’t exactly like that. I think it's the warehouse who wants you back. It’s not just a building, y’know. She’s a living breathing soul, with a will of her own. Everything I told you about the artifact I’ve been hunting is true. She led me on a wild goose chase so I’d find my way back to you.’ 

There was an awkward pause as the two warehouse agents, born more than a century apart, locked eyes. The ups and downs of their complex history weighed heavy in the air.

Sensing the tension, Warren Bering picked up the story again. ‘After – after what happened two years ago, the regents decided on a more humane approach than bronzing. They used an artifact called the Janus Coin to store H.G. Wells’ dangerous personality forever more, and to implant a new life and identity in you. Myka Bering was a fiction created to occupy your body, and they asked us to play the parts of your family. We did our best to create a happy life for you, and to preserve your love of literature. We thought we were doing the right thing.’

‘I’m sure you did,’ Helena retorted, in a clipped accent that was already slightly unnerving. ‘I’m sure you did Warren. Then it seems that the warehouse has allowed that my memories be returned to me after all.’

‘The warehouse wants you back. The regents’ll have to deal with it,’ Emily enthused. ‘They can’t send you away again,’ she added, her eyes burning with quiet determination. 

‘Me, a warehouse agent? But I’m only a bookseller. What if I can't handle it?’ 

***

The ring of the shop bell had often been a source of comfort to Myka. A homely sound that told her the business was ticking over nicely. It was now an unwelcome intrusion.

‘Probably one of the neighbours wanting to know what all the fuss is about at this ungodly hour,’ grumbled Jean as she pulled herself out of her seat.

‘No, I’ll get it,’ said the young woman they still thought of as their own. ‘It seems as though I’ve already caused enough inconvenience. Please rest yourself.’ With her delicate features glowing in the early morning light, H.G. Wells smoothed down her frizzy curls and strode towards the door, ready to launch a charm offensive on the aggrieved neighbours by doing her best impression of one Myka Bering.

‘Where’s your father, Myka?’ demanded Reginald Judd as the door swung open, his face contorted with anger. ‘There’s something fishy with those there encyclopedias he sold me, and us men need to have words.’

‘Now hold on a second,’ said Helena fruitlessly, as the bullish collector pushed past her to the back of the store. 

‘You. YOU!' barked Judd, his face purple with rage as he caught sight of Emily beside the fireplace. ‘You deceitful little whore. Wait till I get my hands on you.’


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily slipped an arm gently around her companion’s waist, enjoying the tranquillity of the moment. Lake and Wells alone on the road. Again.

Helena’s moves went far beyond the karate that “Myka Bering” had studied in high school. As she swung her leg back her body remembered the kenpo she had perfected back in her days with Chaturanga at Warehouse 12. And as her knee made contact with Judd’s groin for the second time in just a few short hours, she almost felt like her old self again. _It really is just like riding a bike_ , mused Helena as she went in for another jab. The ageing book collector made a grab for the Victorian, but the agile, athletic woman was too much for him. Within seconds H.G. twisted Judd’s arm up behind his back and pushed the overweight man face-forwards on the ground. His ample stomach cushioned his fall, which was accompanied by a colourful string of curses. 

‘Tut, tut. Mind your manners now,’ scolded the Englishwoman as she stepped coolly over the fuming, prostrate man. She went to put a protective arm around Emily’s shoulders, resembling a woman dodging a particularly unpleasant heap of dog turd on the side walk. ‘Righto, I think that’s our bedtime,’ she announced in the crisp, nonchalant tones that the Nebraskan had missed every day for the past two years. ‘We’ve got a long drive ahead of us tomorrow.’ 

The Berings stood aghast in the corner, completely speechless. 

'Still think you can't handle life at the warehouse?' asked Emily with a proud, knowing smile. 

'I suppose I'm not as incapable as I imagined,' Helena replied wryly. She had barely drawn breath when flinging the man aside. ‘Perhaps your would be kind enough to take the rubbish out?,’ she added, looking first at the Berings then down to Mr Judd. ‘I doubt this gentleman will be purchasing from Bering & Sons in the foreseeable future.’

***

Crushed against the back seat of the car, her legs spread obscenely wide apart, Warehouse 13 Agent Emily Lake was giddy with happiness. She couldn’t help but laugh out loud as another jolt of pleasure coursed through her system. ‘Did you say something?’ purred Helena, extricating her tongue from the place inside her lover where it was causing unspeakable amounts of pleasure. ‘You want me to stop?’

‘I sure don’t,’ giggled Emily, flopping back against the seat. ‘But if we keep pulling over like this we’ll never make it back to South Dakota before nightfall.’ Progress had been slow for the couple since leaving Colorado Springs. Fortunately Warren had seen Judd off with his tail between his legs, and now Helena's only preoccupation was the body of her long lost lover.

‘Maybe it’s best if we don't go back after all,' declared H.G. with mock-petulance. 'You did buy a cat. Vile creatures!’ 

‘Hey, you wanna turn this car around?’ The young woman from Omaha grinned broadly. ‘Warehouse 13 has become a strictly feline friendly zone. Even Artie’s been converted. Dickens is such a beauty.’

‘Just wait till I get my hands on the little flea bucket,’ retorted the Victorian with her characteristically charming smile. She dipped her head down low, beginning to tease her lover with her tongue all over again. ‘This certainly is easier when I can see where I’m going.’

***

The road ahead was long and unforgiving. ‘Do you really think they’ll let me come back?’ asked Helena as the dusk began to settle on the freeway. Artie never trusted me. Nor did Pete. And neither of them trusted me with _you_. You know they thought I manipulated you; that I used your feelings for me for my own ends.’

‘They have to take you back,’ returned Emily, smiling up naively. ‘You’re a new woman and your life as “Myka” proves it. They must see that what happened with the Minoan trident was all to do with Christina. And now it’s in the past.’

Emily slipped an arm gently around her companion’s waist, enjoying the tranquillity of the moment. Lake and Wells alone on the road. Again.

‘A new woman indeed,’ murmured Helena smoothing out her curls. She gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as she looked out towards the spectacular sunset. Luckily for her her companion couldn’t see the expression on her face. Her gentle lips twisted into a wicked smile, and her eyes twinkled with the possibility of new adventures; new mischief to be made. _Yes_ , she mused, _things have been quiet for far too long. I’m sure Warehouse 13 needs stirring up a little._

Helena George Wells was a new woman all right. But there was still a little room left over for the same old H.G.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, including Con Crit, are love!


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